


Coming Clean

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-26
Updated: 2012-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-30 03:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Charley/Amy(/Peter) - Coming Clean. Peter has the biggest, most lavish walk-in shower of all time. Charley and Amy take advantage of it for certain activities while Peter is out at rehearsals. Then one time, Peter comes back early, and catches them, then goes on with his post-rehearsal shower as planned, calmly ignoring the teenagers shagging against the wall next to him. (Bonus Points if they jump him in the bedroom after they all get out)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

Peter knows the teenagers use his place as a fuck pad. He'd offered, that first time, and, he supposes, that it was understood to be a standing offer. He doesn't mind. They have keys and he has a pretty set schedule of rehearsals and performances, so they know when he'll be out. He's told them, though he was mostly joking, just not to use his bed. Which, since they were on the floor the one time he'd walked in on them, he's assumed they've held to.

He doesn't know if they're up there now. They might be, but he doesn't really give a shit. Rehearsal was going terribly and he was so annoyed with his incompetent crew that he called a halt to everything halfway through, telling them to call him when they got their shit together. It won't be today. The show is dark tonight, anyway. They can work out the kinks of the new act tomorrow. Fuck it. He just wants a shower, a nap, and a goddamned drink.

A glance shows an empty flat, so he hastily sheds his costume, tossing the leather coat and then trousers wherever they fall, and then downs a quick cocktail before heading to his bedroom. He gets mostly through throwing his jewelry on the dresser before he realizes he hears the water running behind the closed door to the loo. Shit. No wonder he'd been thinking about them earlier. The kids are in the shower. Spectacular.

Peter debates falling into bed as is, but he feels manky from the hot stage lights and wig and wants a fucking wash first. His luxurious shower stall is what sold him on doing _Fright Night_ at this damned hotel in the first place. Penthouse apartment? Bollocks. Triple-headed, ultra-hot massaging, ample-room-to-fuck-showgirls-in shower? Where do I sign? 

Oh, whatever. He thinks that maybe by now the kids are past being scandalized by his attitude towards nudity, anyway. They can hop out or, if they're shagging, they can fuck while he washes his hair; he's not particularly bothered either way. He shrugs and opens the door.

He sees them immediately through the glass, against the stone wall of the stall, but they don't notice him right away. And yes, they're definitely shagging. He spares a moment to appreciate Amy's beautiful legs wrapped around Charley's hips, the flex of the latter's muscles as he drills into his girlfriend, water sluicing down his back. Peter's cock gives a little twitch, but he shoves any such ideas out of the way in favor of his cultivated state of annoyance. He just wants to get clean.

They notice him when he opens the shower door. Amy's eyes fly open and she gasps. Charley's hips stutter to a halt as he too realizes what the click he'd heard must mean, and he looks over his shoulder at Peter to confirm.

“Dude!” Charley shouts, shifting to somehow cover more of Amy's body, which Peter mostly can't see, anyway.

Peter gives a little wave and steps beneath the water.

Charley, practically shaking with the effort of staying still, lamely chokes out, “You're early.”

“My shower,” Peter says simply, and reaches for the shampoo. “Carry on. I don't mind.”

Charley's eyes widen. Peter doesn't miss their brief flick down his body either. Amy whimpers, but over Charley's shoulder, she's looking too. If Peter weren't so tired...

“Seriously, I don't give a fuck,” he says to them, and he means it. “I'll be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

Amy catches his eye, sees he's, indeed, serious. Her surprise and embarrassment seem to fade quickly, her gaze lowers, and now she looks like any woman who wants to fuck. Charley looks back at her. “ _Move_ ,” she says to Charley, urging the kid with a wiggle against him. “I was getting close.”

Peter, bored already, sighs and turns his back to them as he lathers his hair. He hears Charley make a sort of strangled noise and then the sound of them fucking fills the shower once more. Again he feels the tingle of a faint rush of arousal spread through him, but he again ignores it. Doesn't mean he doesn't turn and look when he's ready to rinse out his hair. He stores what he sees and hears in his memory for use later. The side of Amy's tit, pressed against Charley... Charley's arse as he moves... his puffs of exertion, as he's working to come.

It isn’t long before Amy's crying out in what sounds like a decent orgasm, if she's to be believed, as Peter quickly finishes his shower. As promised, he leaves them to finish up, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel without a backwards glance. In his bedroom, he runs the towel over his body, scrubs it through his hair, and not even bothering to throw back his covers or shut his curtains to the afternoon sun, falls onto his bed as he'd wanted to earlier. He's asleep before his head hits the pillow.

It doesn't last long. He can't have had his eyes shut for much longer than ten or fifteen minutes before his bed dips beneath the pressure of someone sitting on it. He feels the slight scratch of a damp towel near his knee and cracks open an eye. Charley is sitting there, wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. Peter opens both eyes.

“Sorry,” Charley says, eyes firmly on Peter's face, the kid's expression unreadable. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah” Peter answers, but he's not really annoyed now; he's curious. “What's up?”

“I just…” Charley starts slowly, “…you know, wanted to say that that wasn't cool. Back there.”

“What?!” Rage flares through Peter. How _dare_ this damn kid come in here, after everything he's done for him, and lecture _him_! “Who the f—” He begins to sit up, but Charley places a gentle hand on Peter's bare chest, pushing him back down. And Charley is laughing a little, looking embarrassed.

“No, dude, relax. I'm _apologizing_ here. That wasn't cool of _me_.”

Ah. Peter relaxes as he begins to understand what Charley means. His anger cools. “Right. Sorry. Go on,” he says. His eyes dart down to the hand lingering on his chest, and then he flicks his gaze back up to Charley's and raises an eyebrow questioningly. Charley snatches his hand back.

“You've been so generous and everything, and we just... I mean we use your place and your stuff, and you never ask for anything in return. And, we should have... let you shower in peace. So… Sorry. We'll find somewhere else next time.”

The kid's apologizing, and he's sincere, but Peter's mind is cast back to the imagined offense. Two beautiful (and delightfully legal) teenagers fucking in front of him. And the present Charley sitting so close to him, damp, nearly naked. Peter himself, entirely naked. His cock twitches again, responding to the intimacy of the moment, and if Charley would let his eyes slide down, he'd see it begin to harden. Peter decides he has no plans to apologize for it.

“You don't have to do that. It's fine, kid,” Peter says slowly. “Told you it was.”

Satisfyingly, Charley _looks_. But makes no comment. Just turns away, looking towards the closed door to the bathroom where Peter assumes Amy still is. Peter observes him in silence, watching the path of a water droplet as it sinks from the back of Charley's neck, rolls down his back, and disappears into the cursed towel low on his hips. Peter nearly groans. When exactly had he become so spun on this kid? Probably the moment he’d walked into his flat wearing an ill-fitting blazer. Peter grows harder, and is thankful for the moment that Charley's back is turned.

A small laugh and Charley finally says, quietly, “You sorta drove her wild, you know.”

Peter laughs. It's not too often anyone surprises him, but Charley manages it, more often than most. “You seemed to be doing a pretty fine job of that yourself.”

Charley's still looking at the door like it will give him answers, though none seem to be forthcoming. But Peter sees the side of a small smile on the younger man's lips anyway. Charley turns back then, and looks again. Purposefully. Peter wants to breathe a sigh of relief when Charley's doesn't appear shocked, doesn't bolt from the room. No, still wearing that same slight smile, the kid just nods a little in the general direction of Peter's groin and asks, “Our fault?”

Peter laughs again. “At the moment? Yours, mostly.”

Color rises in Charley’s cheeks at that, but he doesn’t look away again. Instead he _licks his lips_ and Peter does groan then, fisting the sheets to keep from grabbing Charley and pulling him down on top of him. “Look—” Peter begins, because the need to either fuck someone or usher everyone out of his penthouse so he can have a good wank is quickly becoming paramount.

The door to the bathroom opens then and both men turn to look. Amy’s standing in the doorway, haloed by steam, a towel unfortunately covering the important bits.

“He apologize yet?” Amy asks him, her voice a curious purr.

He sees Charley mutely nod. Peter’s at a loss for words himself, wondering if he’s imagining things, but it _feels_ like something that had seemed only just possible moments ago appears to have ticked over into inevitable.

There’s certainly no mistaking that Amy’s eying his cock. “So he’s offered to make it up to you, then?”

“Um…” Peter squeaks.

“We were sort of… working up to that,” Charley says, growing even more red.

“Well what’s the hold up? He just saw us fucking, Charley? What’s there to be shy about?”

“That’s a little different than—” Charley says, but stops as Amy moves from the doorway, striding across the room, dropping her towel on the way.

Peter’s eyes widen as she sort of sidles her boyfriend out of the way, leans over Peter, water from her hair dripping onto his chest, and snogs him. He kisses her back immediately, not bothering to waste time being surprised. It seems pretty clear Charley’s okay with this when they get their tongues into each other’s mouths and Amy’s _not_ wrenched away from him and his face is _not_ being pummeled by angry boyfriend. What the hell _happened_ in there while he’d been asleep?

He decides he doesn’t care in the least.

He groans again, feels Charley shift to make room as Peter pulls her more fully onto him and her damp body slides against him where he’s now aching. He fears he may disappoint them if she keeps writhing against him like that, but he enjoys it for a few more moments, clutching her arse and grinding up against her, careful to avoid anything near penetration just yet, as much as he wants it.

She pulls away, a little breathless, and rolls onto her side next to him. Peter looks up at Charley, who, far from seeming upset, looks powerfully turned on. His pupils are blown wide, and Peter can see that the towel against his lap is tented.

“See,” Amy drawls beside him. “Was that so hard?” The three of them pause, each probably thinking of making some terrible pun, but Peter can’t be bothered. Nor can he tear his gaze away from Charley’s. Amy goes on. “Your turn, Charley.”

Again Peter’s stricken with the fierce urge to reach up and grab him, but he knows that this step has to come from Charley. The younger man’s eyes flick to his girlfriend for a second—one last check to make sure. Peter senses her nod beside him. Charley begins to move, to lean in, and then stops. “Is this,” he asks of Peter, “cool?” 

Peter laughs, and even as incredibly aroused as he is, his heart gives a little lurch of affection at Charley’s concern. “Are you fucking _kidding_?”

He doesn’t have time to savor the priceless expression on Charley’s face, because in an instant, his arms are full of damp, horny teenager and his lips are covered by the softest pair he’s ever felt on a bloke. The kid is enthusiastic, a little messy, a bit less finesse than Peter is used to, but it’s absolutely perfect because it’s _Charley_ and it’s finally happening. The towel is still between them as they grind together, and he thinks that maybe that will save them a bit of mess, because he’s already too fucking close.

He gets the sense that Amy is impatient next to them, but he doesn’t know if she wants attention or just wants to see _more_. “Charley,” she says, and her voice is pleading.

Charley pulls away and Peter tries to chase his lips. It’s Amy’s hand on his chest that stops him this time, and he lies back flat. Charley looks good enough to eat, all wet hair, flushed cheeks, and kiss-swollen lips.

“In the shower,” Charley tries to explain, “I told Amy that I’d… that I wanted to…” He looks down at Peter’s cock again, and Peter _hopes_ he’s guessed at how his broken sentence should end. He holds his breath as Charley looks Amy for help, because apparently the kid can’t say the words.

She giggles, pushes up against him, and stage-whispers in Peter’s ear, “He wants to go down on you.”

Peter won’t be sure, later, how he didn’t come on the spot, right then. He feels every muscle in his body tense in anticipation and forces himself to relax, to take a deep breath, to slide on a smug grin. “Is that right, Charley?” Charley nods, shakily, and Peter scrunches up his face, pretending to consider it.

“I’ve no objection,” he declares.

“Told you, Charley,” Amy teases, and again Peter wishes he’d been privy to their earlier conversation, but he forgets that thought as soon as it occurs to him because Charley is leaning over him again, and his hand is tentatively reaching for Peter’s cock.

At the first touch, Peter’s eyes flutter closed and he sucks a deep breath in through his nose. He feels a slow stroke and grits his teeth. Beside him, the bed shifts and Amy’s moving. He chances opening his eyes, sees Charley entirely focused on his task, seeming fascinated, and Amy fussing with untangling Charley’s towel. Another stroke and then Charley lowers further, lips finally encircling him. Peter struggles to stay still as Charley carefully glides down until he meets his fist wrapped around the base of Peter’s cock.

“Amy,” Peter croaks, “Come here.” She readily climbs back onto the bed next to him and he grabs her by the hair, kissing her again, needing the distraction. He attempts to focus on _her_ mouth, not on Charley’s as it sets a thankfully slowish rhythm. But Charley soon grows more confident, more sure of what he’s doing and moves faster, his tight fist made wet by saliva, chasing his mouth up Peter’s cock. He can’t concentrate on snogging anymore, which Amy seems to realize and pulls back, just enjoying the show. “He’s really… fucking… _good_ ,” Peter manages, his toes fucking curling into the bedcovers.

“I know,” Amy says next to him, but he barely hears her.

He hears Charley though, his small groans of appreciation, _feels_ them reverberating around his cock, and Peter’s got only seconds left. “Charley!” he yelps, trying to warn him. “I’m—”

Charley magics his towel from wherever it’d been and pulls his mouth away, just as Peter’s orgasm rockets through him. Charley wraps the towel around Peter’s cock with one hand, his other still stroking beneath it, milking Peter for every drop. Peter feels like if it were possible to die from pleasure, _this_ time coming would be the one to kill him. The hand in his lap slows and then stills after a few moments, and he feels Charley withdraw. He opens up his eyes when he’s able and meets Charley’s again. And then Peter thinks, oh no, there is going to be a _lot_ more pleasure to come.

Amy applauds slowly next to them and the three of them burst into laughter.

 

FIN


End file.
